They descended the grand staircase and entered the dining hall.
A small, intimate table was set for two, laden with light breakfast.
As Daphne moved to sit in the chair across from his, Alaric shook his head.
"Come here, princess," he said, his voice a low, commanding hum.
She walked toward him, and before she could protest, he had her settled on his lap.
Daphne's face flushed a deep crimson. She felt a wave of embarrassment, aware of the footmen and maids who were serving their meal.
She kept her gaze fixed on her plate, her posture stiff and awkward.
Alaric, sensing her discomfort, looked up at the servants. "You may go," he commanded, his voice firm and clear. "You can come back when we ring."
The footmen and maids bowed their heads and left the dining hall, their movements swift and silent.
"Why are you still so shy?" he teased. "I am your husband, not some random stranger."
Daphne looked up at him, her eyes soft with vulnerability.
